ROBERT DUKE WEAR. BORN: VERONA, MISS., FEB. 26, 1854. By profession Mr. Wear is a lawyer, and resides in Granbury, Texas. He was married in 1876 to Miss Cora Leeper. The poems of Mr. Wear have appeared quite extensively in the periodical press, and in 1885 published a volume of verse entitled Beauty, a romance from real life, together with other poems. UNDER AN APPLE TREE. Hist! listen! Hear the rolling, rumbling boom Now sounding forth a nation's dreadful doom. There comes from Sumpter's fiery mouth Are spent in vain; Our sons are slain. 'Mid sobs and cries A nation dies. Hark! listen! Hear the rolling, rumbling boom Now lifting forth a nation from its gloom. The storm has swept the nation wide; And now the sun is shining bright Beholds our heroes side by side, And peace is sending forth her light. Then two mighty men But greeting glad; Then Grant met Lee 'Neath hist'ry's tree. ALL ALONE. When from life's dark, dreary pathway "Tis hard when left alone. Of the children now is gone- When the soul is bowed in sorrow O, God! we're all alone. "Twould leave me all alone. If I knew w'd meet forever In another world than this, Then I could thus bear to sever, And their sacred presence miss; But, 'tis sad to be alone. HOME. As the twilight lingers softly Plodding homeward on their way, Like a bird with weary wing, Home, sweet home! I'm going home. As a vision comes in sight Home, sweet home, they are going home. We will sing through coming time— Home, sweet home, no place like home. MRS. LAURA GRICE PENUEL. BORN: SOUTH CAROLINA. THIS lady is a widow, and has resided in Hearne, Texas, for the past ten years. For several years she assisted Dr. Royall as But the stars above were marching, And they shouted, "The victor's wreath?" And we longed to march with the legions, Heroic, and grand and strong, That storm the castles of evil, That scatter the ranks of wrong. Now, we know not if gardens are sunny, And yet, in the glare of the conflict, Dear God! ever gracious and tender, We know 'twill be wondrously lovely, We leaned from the lattice at midnight, The roses blushed beneath, Who died for.. Old England and the Policy of Gladstone." LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. DANSKE DANDRIDGE. SHE commenced writing verses at the age of eight. Her first poem appeared in Godey's Lady's Book in 1885. Since that time she has published several volumes of poems, among which might be mentioned Joy and Other Poems. Many of her poems have also appeared in miscellaneous periodicals. PLEASURE. Alas! I have an ancient enemy, MOON. We dart through the void: We have cries, we have laughter: The phantom that haunts us Comes silently after. This Ghost-lady follows, Though none hear her tread; On, on, we are flying, Still tracked by our Dead; By this white, awful Mystery, Haggard and dead. DESIRE. Come, dear Desire, and walk with me; To weave her silken nets again. I know a field where bluets blow THE RAINBOW. We are akin, dear soul: Akin as are the rainbow in the sky, The runnel on the knoll; We are akin in spirit, you and I. Ah! how serene and bright! And lustrous arch complete Of rounded life upon the cloudy height: With radiance of a glory and a grace. But I am like the stream That hurries down the knoll, As changeful as a dream; As restless and as wild As an impatient child: Yet thankful, dear, if in some tranquil space, I may reflect the radiance of your face. MAURICE THOMPSON. 929 ALTHOUGH Mr. Thompson is chiefly known through his prose, perhaps his best work is poetry. Songs of Fair Weather are fresh and breezy as a May morning; Between the Poppy and the Rose is a gem; and Ceres is also a very fine piece of versification. He has been a member of the Indiana legislature, and has lately resigned the office of State Geologist of Indiana. POETRY. He is a Poet strong and true Who loves wild thyme and honey-dew; A FLIGHT SHOT. We were twin Brothers, tall and hale, Our old yew bows with all our might. We watched their flight, and saw them strike So far away that they might pass To find whose shaft was farthest sent, Their red cock-feathers wing and wing, We clasped each other's hands; said he, 930 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. JAMES B. KENYON. BORN: FRANKFORT, N. Y., APRIL 26, 1858. AFTER receiving a collegiate education he taught for three seasons in the common schools and at the age of twenty entered the ministry. He is highly esteemed at Watertown, N. Y., where he is now preaching. Mr. Kenyon has published four volumes of poetry. The Fallen and Other Poems, Out of the Shadows, Songs in All Seasons, and In Realms of Gold. He is a constant contributor to the leading periodicals. ELUSION. Ah, happy poet who may guess IF IT WERE. Love, that thou lov'st me not, too well I know, Yet shouldst thou look to-night on my dead face For the last time on earth, and there shouldst trace The silent meaning of a heavy woe, Thy lover so besought thee to bestow? O Love, wouldst thou not miss the voice of yore? The song-bird flown, wouldst thou not miss the song? VANISHED. It was but yesterday I saw his sheep, The while he led them up the height to feed, And heard him merely pipe upon his reed, And mock the echoes from yon rocky steep; 'Twas yesterday I found him fast asleep, His flock forgot and wantoning in the mead, His pipe flung lightly by with idle heed, And shadows lying round him, cool and deep. But though I seek I shall not find him more, In dewy valley or on grassy height; I listen for his piping-it is o'er, From out mine ears gone is the music quite There on the hill the sheep feed as before, But Pan, alas, has vanished from my sight! A ROMAN QUEEN. Imperious on her ebon throne She sits, a queen, in languid ease; Her lustrous locks are loosely blown Back from her brow by some stray breeze Lost in that vast, bright hall or state, Where thronging suppliants fear and wait. A dreamy fragrance, fine and rare, Of sandal, nard and precious gum, A jeweled serpent, wrought in gold, And curtained by the silken lash, Is scarcely seen, save when a flash, Her proud, cold lips are lightly wreathed Her very soul; he pleads; he wakes A subtle glance, a whispered word, He bows, he leans toward the throne: He hears the love she dares not speak: What though the surging hundreds press? No eye shall see her swift caress. Let him beware; he toys with fate; False as the glittering serpent is On her white arm, her love to hate Shall change eftsoons; then every kiss She gives him with her fickle breath Shall be surcharged with secret death. LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MOODY CURRIER. BORN: BOSCAWEN, N. H., APRIL 22, 1806. GRADUATING in 1834 with high honors from the Dartmouth college, this gentleman has since received from his alma mater the degree of LL.D. For a number of years he practiced law at Manchester, N. H., and since 1848 has MOODY CURRIER. been a prominent banker. Mr. Currier was the governor of his state in 1884 and 1885 and has filled many other prominent political positions. In 1881 a neat volume of poems appeared from the pen of this gentlemen, entitled Early Poems, which has had a wide sale and has received the enconiums of the press throughout the United States. THE ADIEU. Lady mine, I need not tell you Where my infant lot was cast, No, 'twas not companions leaving; Mary, the night may look black May threaten to burst on our head; But sweeter the transports shall flow, When the anguish of sorrow is fled. Mary, misfortune may spread, 931 O'er the prospects of youth, its dark shroud; But hope in its brightness will shed Its sweet beams of joy o'er the cloud. Mary, th' affections of youth, And the soft smile of friendship may die; But hope, like the fountains of truth, Flow down from regions on high. Mary, though life, like a flower, May wither and fade in its bloom; Hope points to a bright sunny bower, Through shadows that hang o'er the tomb. IF I WERE A CHILD. If I were a child I'd sport and play; And mock the red-breast's song. I'd seek where the sweetest wild flowers blow; I'd make me wings to fly in the air: And catch the larks that were singing there; I'd build me a boat, a jolly boat, [knee, |